


He is alone

by I_am_the_Muse



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Masturbation, Multi, Sexual Content, but that'd just be way too OOC, really I ship Frank Castle with closure and happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:45:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_the_Muse/pseuds/I_am_the_Muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d rather not be the guy who accidentally comes to the image of some other guy’s face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He is alone

He tries not to think of her face, because when he does all he sees is blood and all he hears is screaming. He tries not to think of blonde either, since its seems wrong to use her like that when she’d done nothing but try and help his lost cause. Thinking of nothing else doesn’t work either, since his head just gets filled with images of all the men he’s planning on taking down the next day, and he’d rather not be the guy who accidentally comes to the image of some other guy’s face.

In the end, he usually does nothing about it all – just focuses on his purpose, on his _mission_ , and lets sleeping dogs lie. That doesn’t always work either. Sometimes – well sometimes he just wants something hot and tight and wet to fuck into oblivion.

He just wants to forget what a goddamn scumbag he’s turning himself into, justified or not. He wants the images gone – images of the people he’s gonna kill, and already killed, and _was_ killed right in front of him. He wants to forget the lawyers and that idiot in the red suit and his naïve ideals and the blonde and her eyes staring at him like he still had any goodness left inside of him. He wants to forget that scum fat-shit mob boss in prison and the taste of blood in his mouth.

Fuck, he wanted to forget Hell’s Kitchen – forget that he was ever there, or that he ever had a family there, forget all the bloody streets and screams in the middle of the night. He wanted to forget the soldier and the family and the punisher and anything else that made Frank Castle.

He ends up lying on his stomach with a hand down his soft tracksuit pants, humping the bed like it can embrace him and biting into the pillow. If any blondes managed to slip into his head while he was doing that – well, no one could prove it, could they?

**Author's Note:**

> Ha.
> 
> Yeah. This is a gift for my friend and therefore there is no plot. If you want more of whatever the hell this is let me know I guess. I know she'll be happy about it.
> 
> Ha.


End file.
